arse-kickers (as the brits might say . . . )

Seems that Ryan and I are notorious for getting strange boxes in the mail at our place. For example, Mom sent a vaccuum cleaner once (heavy!) and Ryan gets a beer-of-the-month case (Christmas present from his sister). Our building manager thinks we're nuts, I'm sure, as he's the one collecting the packages for us (and showing his ID for the beer each month).

Yesterday was no different.

Two boxes: one a small, outdoor George Foreman electric grill. (Said building manager: "You're mom didn't actually send you a grill in the mail did she?") and a bankers' box labeled "Katy's shoes" in black magic marker all over the place.

The grill was put immediately to use, for chicken fajitas and all the fixin's.

The box of shoes was opened with great curiosity. These were shoes I had not seen since the summer of 1999. They had been hiding, deep in the basement storeroom somewhere, ever since I left to study abroad and couldn't take them with me.

I had searched high and low for this particular box, but never found it. Until it arrived on my doorstep yesterday. The explanation? Dad has been cleaning out the storeroom, and now Mom is sending us our stuff. Alas, I am attempting to de-crap the house, but there is more stuff arriving from Mom, attempting to de-crap her house. LOL.

Anyways. Today I am wearing a pair of those shoes. Boots, rather, for which I have been looking for years!

It's a pair of royal blue doc martin boots I bought in London, the first time I ever voyaged to those fair, British isles. Our family went with Aunt Fran and her church choir on their tour of England and Scotland during the summer of 1998. Will and I sang with the choir; Mom and Dad were just along for the ride.

The boots are soooo comfy. :) I'll put a picture up, later.